The Damnation of Theron Ware eBook

“I myself,” he went on, “would not
have known, half an hour ago, what you meant by the
worship of the maternal idea. I am much older
than you. I am a strong, mature man. But
when I lay down there, and shut my eyes—­because
the charm and marvel of this whole experience had for
the moment overcome me—­the strangest sensation
seized upon me. It was absolutely as if I were
a boy again, a good, pure-minded, fond little child,
and you were the mother that I idolized.”

Celia had not taken her eyes from his face. “I
find myself liking you better at this moment,”
she said, with gravity, “than I have ever liked
you before.”

Then, as by a sudden impulse, she sprang to her feet.
“Come!” she cried, her voice and manner
all vivacity once more, “we have been here long
enough.”

Upon the instant, as Theron was more laboriously getting
up, it became apparent to them both that perhaps they
had been there too long.

A boy with a gun under his arm, and two gray squirrels
tied by the tails slung across his shoulder, stood
at the entrance to the glade, some dozen paces away,
regarding them with undisguised interest. Upon
the discovery that he was in turn observed, he resumed
his interrupted progress through the woods, whistling
softly as he went, and vanished among the trees.

“Heavens above!” groaned Theron, shudderingly.

“Know him?” he went on, in answer to the
glance of inquiry on his companion’s face.
“I should think I did! He spades my—­my
wife’s garden for her. He used to bring
our milk. He works in the law office of one of
my trustees—­the one who isn’t friendly
to me, but is very friendly indeed with my—­with
Mrs. Ware. Oh, what shall I do? It may easily
mean my ruin!”

Celia looked at him attentively. The color had
gone out of his face, and with it the effect of earnestness
and mental elevation which, a minute before, had caught
her fancy. “Somehow, I fear that I do not
like you quite so much just now, my friend,”
she remarked.

“In God’s name, don’t say that!”
urged Theron. He raised his voice in agitated
entreaty. “You don’t know what these
people are—­how they would leap at the barest
hint of a scandal about me. In my position I am
a thousand times more defenceless than any woman.
Just a single whisper, and I am done for!”

“Let me point out to you, Mr. Ware,” said
Celia, slowly, “that to be seen sitting and
talking with me, whatever doubts it may raise as to
a gentleman’s intellectual condition, need not
necessarily blast his social reputation beyond all
hope whatever.”

Theron stared at her, as if he had not grasped her
meaning. Then he winced visibly under it, and
put out his hands to implore her. “Forgive
me! Forgive me!” he pleaded. “I
was beside myself for the moment with the fright of
the thing. Oh, say you do forgive me, Celia!”
He made haste to support this daring use of her name.
“I have been so happy today—­so deeply,